Overthrow
by Lotrdude
Summary: Tarus, A man who has inherited the fabled Sword of Aeons, vies to overthrow the land of Albion. With his newly found power he travels the land, vanquishing his enemies in an effort to claim the land for his own. Be sure to read part two.
1. The first aliance

Authors notes:_ ALAS: another cool fable story. This chapter doesn't seem that fantastic, BUT I promise future chaptures will lead into AMAZING stuff._

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It was his now. He couldn't believe it at first. The hard journey that had taken up most of his life had now come to an abrupt end. The previous events that had led up to this magnificent conclusion raced through his mind. It had been somewhat rapid. He remembered the rage, and a blur of countless beasts rushing towards him. Then there was a man. Yes, he remembered it now. A man draped in red, and a mask. He remembered that mask so well. It had reoccurred throughout his past bringing with it companions of death, and pestilence. Jack of Blades, they called him. A formidable opponent he was, but he had slain him. With great pride he killed the beast. The sight of that swine's blood overjoyed him. Then there was his sister, and then a choice: keep the blade or cast it away. He wanted to resist, he wanted to let it go, but his desire was too great. The mystical sword beckoned to him, but there was one obstacle that blocked his way to fulfillment, his sister. Although her sight was a thing of the past she would not let her brother be taken by its power. He couldn't stop himself. He took the sword. Its malevolence flowed through him like a wave of power. He could feel the very essence of the sword take him, and then without hesitation he thrust the mighty blade into the last of his kin. He stared blankly at the sword as his sister's blood trickled down to the hilt. Now it was his.

Now he held the fabled Sword of Aeons. The hero knew of its evil but embraced it, for its new power was greater than that of any he had felt before. He was willingly consumed by it, but now that ultimate power was his, what would he do. He now had the strength to do whatever he pleased, but what did he want. It was obvious. There was only one thing left to take. The thought had entered his mind once or twice, but for this dream to actually be fulfilled. His fate was set. He would overthrow Albion. He had the power. Why not use it? That is what he would do. The world would bow to him, and no one would oppose. He turned and walked out of the chamber of fate and onwards throughout the guild. He then walked up the great steps that led up to the balcony of the guild where he could look upon his new kingdom. He reached the top steps and was taken back by the sight before him.

Albion burned. Its flames spread for miles consuming the landscape like a fiery beast wildly eating its prey. Smoke rose out of the chaos blackening the sky, and ruble covered the ground. The inferno reached even the guild. Its once beautiful gardens and statues were now a pile of charred nothingness. The apocalypse before him broke a smile onto his face. Jack of Blades was a mere pawn in his campaign of death. Jack's act of setting fire to forests and towns were for his benefit, but no longer. Now the path was paved for a new kingdom. He set out to inspect what was left of Albion, still wondering how to start a conquest. Who were his enemies? Who were his allies? All were questions that needed to be answered.

They called him, Tarus. It was a name known by all in Albion. His fierce conquests had gained him the renown of all. His name was uttered with a feared reverence, and he deserved it. His power and skill surpassed even the greatest legends, and now with the ungodly power of the Sword of Aeons he was undefeatable. He stood at least a head higher than anyone, and his bare muscle could tear down the mightiest of warriors.

Now he plotted to take over Albion, but with whom would he make the first alliance? He turned over the peoples of Albion in his mind. There were basically two groups of different people in the land aside from the squabbling groups of Hobbes and other creatures. There were Bandits: nomads fuelled by greed, and then there were the different towns all governed in the same, law abiding, way. The only relevant choice was made. Bandits. Easily persuaded and quick to kill for a price, would be his task force. But the question remained. Could he gain their allegiance? Would money be enough?

Again his thoughts raced back through time. Twinblade. Another legend who, at the time, almost equally matched him. Twinblade, and even his personal elite guards, could not defeat the ever-growing skill of Taurus. Ever since, feelings between the bandits and Taurus had been hostile. He pushed the thoughts away. He did not fear death, nor anything or any one. If the Bandits did not agree, other actions would have to be put into play. But only time would tell. All would be discovered in due time. Until then, Taurus Lord of Albion, would set his paths to the Bandits fortress, unaware of the events to unfold.


	2. Dark Allies

**CHAPTER II: DARK ALIES**

The woods were ominously quiet. The magical beauty of the fall leaves formed a peculiar twilight, which seemed to stop time all together. The majestic aura that dwelled here was balanced out by an innate sense of danger that filled Tarus' mind. He was at the gates of what used to be the camp of Twinblade, but alas, time changes all. As he stepped up to the entrance, two guards stepped forward to greet him. Their clothes were shoddy, their teeth were rotting, and their breath stank of bad ale, all were trademark traits of bandits. "Lets see yer pass," the taller, gangly one demanded. Tarus looked at him with the kind of glance that pierced into the soul and sent it screaming. "I see that security among the bandits has changed of late,"

Tarus spoke in a solemn yet treacherous voice. The bandit merely glanced around in an anxious manner. Sensing the bandit's fear, Tarus thrust himself, in a threatening way, towards the cringing man. "I have business with your leader."

The bandit began to shudder and struggled to speak, "V-v-very well there s-s-sir. I-I don't want no trouble."

The bandits stepped quickly aside fearing for their lives, and with a smirk Tarus waltzed into the fortress acting as if he owned the world. And what did he care? After all, he was invincible.

He walked on casting glances all around him, and taking in the sights. He had been here before, yes, many years before, but those days were long past. Now his intentions were different. Tarus walked on towards the king's hut, all the while receiving suspicious looks from bandits. Their eyes showed menace, but deep within they feared him. At last, he had arrived at the dwelling place of the king. Four guards, wielding fierce looking sabers, stood outside the door to the hut. Their eyes penetrated him like the others, but Tarus found no fear in them. They were the Elites, the most powerful of bandit guards. They were clad in a shoddy kind of leather armor, (armor of any type was rare among the bandits) and two long poles carrying the bandit banner rode upon their backs. At this show of force, Tarus halted. An awkward silence followed. No sound except for the wind was heard. Then the door of the hut burst open. Out came a man. He was tall and of a strong build. He was clad in plate mail, and at his side, a sword of magnificent splendor hung. "Greetings Hero," he cried in a deep booming voice, "Ah yes. You are the one. I remember you from long ago."

Tarus had a puzzled look on his face. The man, who was obviously the king, saw that his introduction was a bit awkward at the moment. He began again with a more grave tone, "Yes you don't remember me, but I… I remember you."

He ended abruptly, and motioned for Tarus to come forward. "Come. I hear you wish an audience with me?"

Tarus regained his demeanor and accepted the king's invitation. "Good. The night dawns, and I hunger."

Tarus simply nodded and entered the king's throne room.

The room was large, and had a warm aura. A massive fireplace was set in the east wall. And huge tapestries hung on the walls. The table was already set for two, and a fairly decent meal had been prepared. Its aroma encircled him and drew his belly towards it. "Sit my friend and tell me what you wish."

Tarus sat. He fervently looked around the room with a chuckle almost cracking his lips. "What?"

the king questioned. Tarus took another glance at the luscious food before him. "I didn't believe bandits had a sense of hospitality."

"We don't look the part do we?"

A joyous laughter filled the room. "Please have some wine, and I'm sure the food looks inviting. Eat my friend"

The king snapped his fingers and a guard came at once with a fine bottle of foreign wine. "Please," the king said in his loud gleeful voice, "Why is it that you come?"

Tarus took his wine glass and slowly savored the almost perfect taste. "First I wish for knowledge. How is it that you know me, and I have never heard your name?" The king sighed, "Ah yes. I suppose you would wonder." He paused a moment, took a sip of wine and resumed his reply. "You surely remember the first day you came here. About… what was it two… perhaps three years ago?"

"The day I killed Twinblade."

Tarus' ominously mysterious voice echoed through the room.

"Exactly."

The king replied, "I was there. In those days I was Twinblade's right hand man. It was when he fell that I became lord of the bandits. I watched as your blade slew him. I saw your power… and I yearned for it, yet now as I sit here before you I fear it. I wonder… are you here on the same mission?"

The mood of the room changed in an instant. The guards slowly moved their hands towards their weapons. Again all was still. All was silent, yet Tarus kept his thoughts inside. He merely sat as normal and took another sip of wine. "Come now,"

Tarus said in a sarcastically cheery voice, " I could have slit your throat and dismembered your guards in mere moments. This is not the reason for my coming."

The king didn't take the joke, "Then what is your reason Hero, my patience grows thin."

Tarus took a deep gulp from his glass and rose to his feet, "As you, no doubt, already know, I have recently obtained the Sword of Aeons."

The king rose in disbelief, "No." he said dumbfounded.

"Look for yourself,"

Tarus exclaimed, "I carry it at my side."

Tarus drew the blade, at which the guards began to lunge forward.

"Sit you fools!"

The king shouted. He took another step towards the blade, "Would you grace me with the privilege to see it closer?"

Tarus placed it back in the scabbard, "I'd rather no one touch."

The king sighed and sat back down, "Very well on with your wish."

Tarus paced for a moment gathering his thoughts, his boots clacking rhythmically on the cold stone floor. "I have a proposal."

The king motioned for him to continue.

"Seeing that I have the power, I wish for a bigger prize worthy of it."

"I see you think like I do," said the king.

"Yes. I suppose I do."

Tarus took a few more paces as he contemplated. He then continued, " I have seen things you wouldn't imagine. I have gained riches you have never dreamed of. Now there is one thing left for the taking."

"Which is?" the king almost shouted growing weary of the discussion. Tarus held up a finger to quiet the king, "You see, what I want to achieve will require some… warriors."

"Well this I can provide, but why our troops?" the king questioned with a growing agitation, "There are many more skilled warriors and assassins who are much more capable. Why do you ask alliance with the Bandits?"

Tarus paced fervently, " I require… numbers for this task."

The king's patience ran out. He rose from his chair and shouted, "BLOODY HELL MAN! WHAT IS THE DAMN TASK!"

The room became silent again. Tarus urged him to calm down, and the king returned to his seat. "If you wish to know I will tell you. One last challenge, one last prize, one last treasure to unearth. You and I tread upon this thing every day." The kings eyes showed his utter astonishment. "You know what I want," his eyes met with the kings, "Albion."

Silence again took the floor. "I propose a massive campaign. It will sweep over Albion easily. With the power of my blade, and your troops we will be able to overtake the land with little opposition."

The king sat back in his chair and stared blankly. "This can not be done," he said, "that is the only way to put it. It can not be done." Tarus wheeled around and tried to show his vision to the doubtful king. " 'O but it can," he said with a seemingly sly all-knowingness, "I assure you." The king paused for another minute or two. This task must surely be insurmountable. Their single band of witless bandits were not even a prick to the towns army's finger. This man did have the fabled Sword of Aeons, but even its power couldn't slay a nation…or could it. The king rubbed his chin for a moment, and then took a final deep drink of wine, which finished off his glass. "I will think on it a while more," he said, "You will have my answer by dawn." He lay the cup down which made a loud "knock" on the hard wooden table. This action seemed to end the conversation. "You may stay here, in the guest quarters," said the king as he walked away, his booming voice echoing in the massive room.

_Please review. Many more chapters to come. _


	3. The begining

**CHAPTER III: The begining**

The room was silent. Tarus sat up in his bed toying with a dagger that never left his person. He had not slept that night, of course. He had done this sort of thing before. It was almost a law that you do not fall into slumber while in the dwelling of a neutral military figure. Many men have had their lives ended by a silent knife in the dark. Suddenly the sound of muffled footsteps crept eerily into his ears. Tarus acted quickly. He crept closer to the door, dagger in hand, as the noise drew nearer. As soon as he heard the latch on his door creak he threw himself at the unsuspecting man on the opposite side of the door. "Keep silent or your heart will meet steel," Tarus whispered as he pressed his blade into the man's back. Tarus and the bandit backed into his room slowly. "Why are you here?" he commanded. The bandit shook violently, but finally words trickled out of his mouth like a drabble of blood, "I…I was sent to s-s-summon you, my lord."

"And you weren't going to announce your presence?" Tarus pushed the dagger harder making the bandit wince. The bandit merely stuttered a blathering of senseless babble. Tarus grew impatient, "knock next time." He said as he knocked the bandits head into the wall, rendering him unconscious.

Tarus stepped out of his room and made his way to the main hall, and then to the banquet table where he had previously had a disgustingly cheerful dinner with the king of the bandits. The king sat in his chair at the end of the table dining on his morning feast. Tarus walked briskly to the table, his eyes glowing with menace as they always did. "Your decision?" He demanded. The king looked up, surprised, "Ah. I see you attitude has changed since our last encounter." Tarus remained silent, his fists clenched on the table, and yet his face held a look of an aggressive calm. The king sat back in his chair and sighed, "You wish to know if I have decided?" the king stood. Tarus could see the king's sword at his side. In fact he was completely adorned for combat. The king rose his eyebrows and let a sly smile crack his lips, "I have done much more than that."

Tarus followed the king towards the front entrance of his fortress. As the king parted the drapes that acted as the doorway of the fortress, Tarus could see just what the king had been doing. A band of almost one hundred men stood in the courtyard below the fortress. At the sight of their king they all shouted a cry of magnificent unison, "Hail Cyloncrius, lord of the bandits." another triumphant shout shook the air. Yes, he thought. "Yes!"

The king turned to him, "you are pleased?" Tarus smiled, "Very much so my friend."

"Good. Come, our transportation awaits." Cyloncrius motioned to a group of cavalry mounted by elites. "So," said Tarus as they walked towards their steeds, "Cyloncrius is it? You should have told me." The king shrugged, "I usually like to keep beggars like you…informal, but I can see now that you are much more than that." Tarus simply nodded and approached his horse.

He examined the stallion very closely before coming nearer. Alas, his gear was already equipped on the horse, but he wanted to see the horse himself. Tarus was skilled in the

art horsemanship, as well as every other art that man could muster. He looked the horse directly in the eye, probing deep within its soul. The horse became restless, but kept his eyes on the man approaching him. Tarus muttered something under his breath as he reached towards the beast. As soon as his hand touched the horse's neck it began to calm down. Tarus waited for the steed to give a grunt of approval before mounting it. "You just have a way with things don't you?" Cyloncrius said mockingly as he struggled to calm his wild mount. Tarus responded with equal sarcasm while laughing inside at the kings clumsiness, "as do you my friend."

Once everyone had collected themselves, the cavalry unit marched to the head of the column of men. Tarus looked at each of them as he rode by, all the while a sense of victory gathering within him. Once at the head of the company and alongside Tarus, Cyloncrius wheeled his horse around and thrust his sword into the air as he shouted in a threatening voice, "Move out you dogs!" and with that, the scourge that would obliterate Albion set out towards their first target, Oakvale.

The beginning of the journey was a great success. All of the men seemed willing and, for bandits, were more or less uniform. As they exited the gates of the fortress the bandits who were to stay within the camp sang out in their ancient tunes of glory, followed by more glorious whoops and cheers. "Shouldn't they be coming?" Tarus inquired, "Surely you have plans of reinforcements or something of the like?" The king let out a hearty laugh, as he drew a parchment from a pouch by his saddle. He opened it to reveal an expertly crafted map of Albion, which had intricate plans for their conquest. "There are more bandits than our measly bunch," he shouted over the cheers, "Bandits from all over will converge on this point." He tapped on a spot on the map, which was circled in dark ink. "Not only will our bandit friends be there but my other… acquaintances will be aiding us also." Tarus peered at the map closely, "You worry me," he said, "a shorter list of allies means less people who could get close enough to kill you." The king laughed and took a large flask of ale from his saddlebag. "You think to much," he said as he took a deep drink from his carafe. Tarus looked at the long path ahead with a solemn glare, "That's why I'm still alive."

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_Sorry about the chapter delay. REVIEW!_


	4. War

**Chapter IV: War**

Taurus's journey continued throughout the looming cliffs and menacing lands of the southern peninsula of Albion. This being the first leg of their journey was alas, and easy one. No opposition in sight the soldiers traveled with ease. Tarus and his troops marched east towards the towns of Albion with malice in their hearts and thoughts of riches in their minds. Now, finally, they come to the first of the cities that are to be conquered, the ancient town of Oakvale. "Ready yourselves men!" Shouted Cyloncrius. The horrific sound of one hundred blades being drawn filled his ears. Tarus stood in the front of the company, yet his mind was far away from the impending doom. He remembered this place so well. The trees in spring, the frolicking of children in the pastures, and the sounds of screams, fire, and death. All aspects of this place ran in his blood like a thick poison. He remembered so well what had brought that horrific nightmare to Oakvale. He had promised himself to kill every last damned one of them, the bandits. There they were, under his command, repeating the hellish past and inflicting the same pestilence, brought down upon him so long ago. "We need your orders Tarus!" said the bandit king in a harsh whisper. Tarus closed his eyes and tried to bury the past deep, deep within. He reached to his side, and felt the power of his sword. It began its wave of power that he had grown to desire. He slowly drew the black blade that had slain so many. Tarus opened his eyes "Show no mercy!"

A deafening roar filled the air. The army of bandits stormed down the path leading to the city. The few townsmen on the road looked in panic stricken glances at their doom. They screamed. Not the kind of scream a child gives when he sees a serpent, but the scream given when you see the men who speared your forefathers and tore out the hearts of your past generations. They had no warning until now.

A squabbled army of twelve guards stood in front of the gate. They knew they would die, they knew that the town would fall but they would kill as many of those bastards as they could. "DEATH!" one of them screamed as he charged out into the fray. The guard only had enough time to lob his saber at the attacking force before he was impaled by a spear. Tarus charged ahead beheading the first guard he could see then delivering a hate driven slash across the next mans gut. The rest of the guards were eventually washed over by a literal wave of men. It was over before it began.

Men dashed out of houses with whatever they could fight with; spades, chairs, even bottles. It was a hopeless fight, the forty or so peasants were quickly obliterated by the chaotic force. "A simple victory." Cyloncrius said to Tarus over the roar of the bandits. Tarus looked around the town in dismay. "Yes. A victory." He said.

The townspeople who had fought back were dead now. Every few moments a wail from a woman or child would scratch the air, but soon all sounds of resistance were silenced.

The bandits made short work of looting the few items of worth from the town, and soon after, they proceeded with the final step of overthrow: fire. "BURN IT ALL" yelled a bandit. Tarus watched as the distant man threw a burning torch into a house. After a second glance Tarus saw what the structure was, his old home. Although it was a small thirteen years that were lived there, he cherished them. They were thirteen years of peace, thirteen years of love, thirteen years that were now being burnt away. Several torches looked mysteriously beautiful against the night sky. The flames twirled around in a dance of death, and chaos.

Oakvale had fallen. It had been a subtle yet appallingly ferocious massacre, the first step on the staircase towards the overthrow of Albion. Nothing had really been accomplished, thought Tarus, perhaps it raised moral of the men, or maybe just struck fear into others. Something must have been accomplished; there must have been some reason for our actions. Tarus felt somewhat convinced of himself, although deep down he didn't know why he was doing this.

"Tarus." Cried a voice, "Tarus my friend come. We must plan our next move." Tarus wheeled around and saw Cyloncrius standing behind him panting and covered in blood.

Both of them walked towards a shady area of the city where two elites sat examining a map. "Our next target isn't far m'lord," one of them said. "You see Tarus," the king spoke, "Our main target is Bowerstone. It is by far the largest city in the land probably making it the enemy's main outpost." Tarus looked disappointed, but maintained his menacing aura, "I would like it if you told me what we were doing first. It is after all my campaign." The king looked ashamed, "I just thought that there was no time but the present," he let a nervous smile leak out. Tarus sat down on a tree stump and grabbed Cyloncrius' map. He scrutinized its every turn through the winding countryside. The plans seemed somewhat straightforward. After Oakvale they would take the main road, which led through every major province. They would travel through Darkwood and then Greatwood, the two forests that made up the main countryside. Within these woods lay many small groups of people. They would not be any trouble at all. The main opposition was Bowerstone, but something troubled Tarus far more. To the west of Bowerstone lay two Islands who were loyal to the government of Bowerstone. The Cities of Hook coast and Knothole Glade had full access to Bowerstone because of the winding river ways of Albion. Combined, these three provinces would be a force to reckon with.

"Cyloncrius."

"Yes?"

Tarus shook his head in dismay, "We have a problem." He pointed out the dilemma ahead. The king observed this with disappointment but responded, "I have another ally, aside from these dogs. I mentioned them before," Cyloncrius motioned for Tarus to come closer, "Pirates," he said. Tarus looked confused. "Pirates, I say. If Bowerstone has allies from other lands so must we."

"Pirates are no better than your scoundrels." An elite grunted in response to Tarus but was stared down. "Very well," Tarus exclaimed as he began to walk off, "But this small battle has become much larger my friend. We're at war now."


	5. Darkwood

**Chapter V: Darkwood**

"The outpost in Barrow Fields has fallen m'lady!"

Lady Grey took another drink from her teacup as she daintily pondered at her fate. "Where are they now?" she inquired. The messenger had a look of severe disarray and spoke in an almost weeping tone, "Our spies report that they are entering Darkwood m'lady." The mayor of Bowerstone, being the unspoken governess of Albion, sat in a very ladylike manner seemingly unaffected by the news of impending doom. "Thunder my good advisor, what do you think." The mountain of a man, Thunder, rose from his chair and began to pace while in deep thought, "If it were my decision, I alone would love to slay that pustule, but I suppose you value the lives of our army." Lady Grey took another drink from her tea, "The only reason I value their lives is because there are less bandits to worry about when I do." Thunder continued to roam about in the room, "If you wish to think that way the best thing to do is play defensively." The governess shook her head ever so slightly, "No. We have to show those rats that we are ready for them." Thunder stopped moving and turned towards her, "M'lady if we don't send an army how can this be done?" Lady Grey set down her tea and spoke in a dainty tone, "You do not need an army to kill a few bandits do you?" The messenger spoke up, "Something you should know m'lady." Lady Grey turned to him and listened. "The bandits aren't being led by Cyloncrius." Thunder leaned closer to hear the man. The messenger spoke in a peculiar tone, "They are being led by Tarus." Lady Grey closed her eyes in dismay. Thunder cringed inside knowing very well of Tarus. Everyone in the court knew of him.

Many years ago, Tarus had come wishing the lady's hand in marriage and, as the stories went, he had a duel with Thunder for her. Of course everyone knew what had happened that day. Tarus defeated Thunder, and won Lady Grey, but oddly enough, declined to marriage. Tarus left the kingdom, to far off lands, while miraculously Thunder recovered from his mortal wounds. They did not marry but Thunder became chief general of the Bowerstone army, rendering him military advisor to the governess. He had no need to use his power until now, when the same man who had put him in power came to take it.

"Any thoughts Thunder?" Lady Grey asked. Thunder looked out of the large window that looked out from Grey Manor over the rest of Bowerstone. He spoke gruffly, "We will need mercenaries."

In the meantime…

Tarus and his men continued their journey north, now marching the long road towards Bowerstone. Their recent conquest of the Bowerstone outpost had lost them a mere twelve lowly bandits. In their minds, nothing could stop them. "I say Tarus why must you worry about the future," said Cyloncrius as he took another deep drink from his frothy mug of beer. The tent in which they were camping in was filled with the higher-ranking elites. Sounds of hearty laughs and the clinking of glasses rang joyously in everyone's ears. Tarus sat maniacally on his chair slowly pondering over some ale. Cyloncrius clumsily tried to cheer him some more between deep gulps of ale. Tarus merely glared at him with a growing hate. "Come on son have some of this," the bandit king reached for his hip flask that contained a ferociously strong bandit rum. Tarus continued to stare with an utter loathing. "Drink it boy!" the king's tone grew to a command. Tarus grabbed the king's garment and violently pulled him out of his chair. Tarus and the king rushed out of the tent drawing curious glares from the elites.

"Listen to me you bastard!" said Tarus as he pushed the king toward the dark side of the tent. The king merely stood blankly and wide eyed at him in a drunken stupor as Tarus drew his dagger. "You insolent rat. I am having to fight myself in order to spare your worthless pustule of a life." The king continued to look on in terror. Tarus continued tightening his grip on the kings cloak out of rage, "You have treated this endeavor like a playful outing. You sit like a drunken swine, and laugh heartily as I plan out attacks. You fool! Do you think that the battles ahead will be this simple? Do you actually perceive that we will prance merrily to the gates of Bowerstone and take charge of their city?" The king stood weakly, and stuttered mindless babble in response. Tarus pulled the king close until he could smell the fowl stench of bad ale. He spoke in a gruff whisper, which sounded like hate itself, "You will die on this expedition, and I will enjoy it." Tarus pulled back and delivered a ferocious blow to the king, that threw him back and onto the dusty ground, unconscious.

Tarus returned to the Tent carrying the unconscious Cyloncrius. The tent was silent. "Old chap had a bit to much." Said Tarus as he threw the king into the corner. At this the elites let out a joyous cheer and continued in their celebration.

When the men set out the next day the king sat like a frightened dog in his saddle. He flinched at every noise and was always looking around him warily. He never said a word; he only rode on behind Tarus allowing him to take full control of the army. It seemed that all of the bandits had partook in their own amount of celebration. This was hinted at by the slow, and groggy nature of the men. Tarus was the only one who rode in a straight path and found no pain in the act of thinking. Because of the current state of his troops, Tarus worried about the journey ahead. Not one hundred yards ahead of them lay the forest Darkwood. The army stopped and looked with a deep fear at the looming woods.

The trees stood tall, but not in a majestic way. They were twisted with vines, their limbs were contorted into hideously maniacal shapes, and the entire endless labyrinth was covered in a dark and gloomy mist. Everyone was stuck fast to the ground. No one moved, they only stared intently at the nightmare before them. The woods were haunted, everyone said so. Travelers who had been unlucky enough to be forced to path through Darkwood's looming branches spoke of the evils within. "The devil himself lives there," they say, "nothing seems real in there. Dead walk, living die, and the ones who do survive are snatched off by who knows what." All of the bandits knew these woods well, and all of them feared it equally.

Tarus did not hesitate, and rode into the mist. Everyone remained still. Eventually Cyloncrius cautiously entered the gloom. The rest of the bandits, having no apparent choice, ambled into the woods, constantly looking around them in a panic-stricken terror.

The mist enveloped Tarus like a shroud. He could not see more than five feet ahead of him, but he did not fear. The others, however, were on the verge of madness. Even the once so brave Cyloncrius was literally shaking.

The group slowly made their way through the perilous woods. The path on which they traveled was always overtly unraveled, and the men sometimes had to hack their way through fierce underbrush. So far, in their escapade through the forest, Tarus had been able to identify a small amount of ambient noise: the occasional ravens screech, the small but frequent sound of a hushed wind, and at least the small rustle of leaves from the creatures of the forest, but all of the sudden, all became quiet. Something was wrong.


	6. Resistance strikes

**Chapter VI: Resistance strikes**

Dead silence fell over the men. Their fear, already at the bursting point, was being let loose. Had the rumors been true? Would they be skinned alive and eaten by unseen demons? Would their souls be sucked into the spiraling vortex of hell? Only time could tell. For now they looked madly around themselves, and into the endless prison of mist and aging trees hoping that they would not be torn to pieces. Tarus did not fear, although he knew that he was not they were not the only ones in these woods. He gripped his reigns tightly ready to jump at the first sign of assailants, and slowly reached for his sword. The sound of his sword being drawn was the only thing that was heard, and the sight of the action told the bandits that danger was close. Silence rolled over the woods again.

"SNAP!" a twig broke and the bandits went wild. A small army of assassin's leaped out of the trees bordering the path. It was utter chaos. The group was so crowded no one could see where their opponents were. Every few moments a soldier would fall with a yelp and be trampled by the men who were trying to scramble farther up the path toward their leader. Tarus rode forward, accompanied by Cyloncrius, toward an open grove ahead of them. As he rode forward, Tarus looked back to see the thinning ranks, but quickly lept from his horse before he had time to look for the assassins. His steed fell to the ground beside him with a thud, which was muffled by the soft, mossy earth. A black arrow was embedded deep into the mounts eye that was bleeding profusely. Sounds of terrified screams were accompanied by the noise of faint sword clashes. The chaos sounded somewhat distant, a sign that these assassins were well trained.

Eventually the remaining bandits had emptied into the grove where they cowered behind Tarus and the king, but the assassins remained at the entrance to the grove whipping their swords around playfully. It was a simple task for which they were getting paid, so far. Tarus skimmed over the remaining ranks of bandits, of which there couldn't have been more than thirty of the original hundred. Then he looked back at the bandit king, whose eyes were wide at the prospect of his best men being slaughtered so easily. The center assassin, who appeared to be the leader, spoke in a heavy accent, "You there. On the horse," the assassin motioned to Cyloncrius, "fight me. I get a bonus for your head." The assassins laughed in sly snickers. He looked the man over. The assassin was dressed in the typical garb of his trade, a full black outfit and a black sash covering his entire head. Only the assassin's eyes were visible, and they glared in a menacing way that sent chills to the king's spine. He tried to snap out of his fear, he was the king of all bandits, and he feared nothing, or so said the bandits. The king's head ached, and he was beginning to feel dizzy, but he managed to draw his sword and trudge towards his opponent. The assassin wasted no time. He lept into the air holding his saber high in the air, ready to cleave the king's skull in two, but Cyloncrius was not that paralyzed. He quickly held his sword up to parry the attack and lept forward with a straight stab to the heart. The assassin dodged the blow and kicked the king's feet out from under him throwing him to the marshy ground. The assassin followed through with a downward stab. Cyloncrius was losing the battle but he wouldn't let this be the end. He lept up and grabbed the arms of his attacker with a brutal grip stopping the hit, but the assassin put his weight into the strike slowly forcing his blade ever closer to the kings neck. The cold steel finally made contact with the throat of Cyloncrius. The king felt a stinging pain on his neck as he let out a fierce cry. Warm blood began to flow over the king's collar. The bandits could only watch helplessly, anticipating the shameful end of their leader. The assassin smiled under his mask, almost feeling the gold in his hands, but suddenly he stopped his triumphant bliss. Tarus had his sword raised above his head. The Sword of Aeons' black blade sped through the air at ungodly speed and slice clean through the assassin piercing his heart and spurting a fountain of blood into the air. The other assassins looked in horror as Tarus walked briskly towards the body of the assassin. Tarus drew the bloodstained sword out of the lifeless carcass and turned to the cowering Cyloncrius. He gripped him by the collar and lifted him closely to his face, "I have needs for you," he said as he threw the king back toward the group of bandits.

The assassins shakily assumed fighting stance as the dark figure of Tarus approached. Tarus remained unaffected by the fact that ten well trained, and disciplined killers surrounded him. He closed his eyes, almost peacefully, as the assassins merely looked on, confused. Slowly they approached him, with sabers drawn, while inside the mind of Tarus churned a mysterious force. It slowly yet violently flew about within him until it branched down his spine and sent a tingle into every nerve that he had. He focused for a moment more and then opened his eyes; they were filled with a sly menace. What the bandits saw astounded them beyond anything that they had seen, or even dreamed. Instantly a wall of what can only be described as pure force emanated from the very air surrounding Tarus. It threw the assassins back rendering three of them dead from the severe blow. The rest lay sprawled about on the ground. Magic! Once the assassins regained their footing Tarus was upon them. His blade sang as it flew threw the attackers. A barrage of quick stabs ended the life of the first man, and a slash across the face ended the next. The assassins remained still expecting Tarus to do the same, but no. He shattered the skull of the assassin standing closest to him with a bitter punch from an armored fist. The other assassins could not deny their defenselessness any longer. They turned and fled, as fast as they could, but Tarus was done forgiving. He ran to the bandits and grabbed a bow from one of the dumfounded men. He quickly faced the fleeing foes, drew it to the extreme draw length and released without taking a moment to aim. The arrow sped a miraculously long distance and pierced the assassin who was in the back of the line of fearful men who were fleeing down the murky path, but the arrows journey did not end there. It continued on, tearing clean through the man who dropped dead instantly, and hit the next one in the back ending the assassins life with a silent fury. Tarus, whose rage had not been quenched, did not end his slaughter then. He sped down the path with inhuman speed, especially despite his full suit of armor. The assassins could hear their killer's deep pants as he drew nearer. They knew they were about to die.

The bandits heard multiple far of cries of pain that came form the dense ocean of mist and trees. Eventually Tarus emerged from the darkness. His breastplate was drenched in blood, and his sword, covered in chunky entrails, was still drawn. The bandits stood silent, and wide-eyed as Tarus approached Cyloncrius, who was tending to the deep gash on his neck with a cloth. Tarus looked at him for a short moment, took the cloth, wiped his blade with it, and handed it back to the king, who was painfully groping at his bloody wound. The army was deathly quiet. They all looked with a deep fear upon the man before them, and then at the moaning and half weeping man that was their king. Tarus walked towards the king's horse and mounted it while looking at the bandits. They were all bruised, bloodied and dirty. "Ten assassins. Ten lowly pustules of life killed forty of your army?" Tarus said to the king in a sarcastically cruel peacefulness. Tarus' face contorted into an angry glare. He thrust out his boot in a livid rage. The king moaned as he held his jaw that was now surely broken. "You are not fit to live you pigs!" Tarus yelled, "You sat drinking merrily while I told you that it would lead to your death! I will make this short because you are not worthy of a minute of time. You will die, I will live, you might as well die fighting." With that Tarus began riding down the path ever onwards towards Greatwood, where he perceived that he would meet his last ally, that is, if the king of the bandits, for his sake, had been truthful.

Tarus disappeared into the mist, but Cyloncrius and the bandits did not move. They merely stood quaking, still shocked at the past events. A faint, hushed, whistling cracked the air as an arrow flew out of the fog and struck a bandit in the forehead. The bandits were sufficiently motivated. He lept to their feet and quickly ran to their unwanted leader.

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_review...you know you liked it. A short note about length: sorry about short chapters, I think of a chapter as a main body of collected thoughts. If that makes sense._


	7. Tomorrow

**Chapter VII: Tomorrow **

The deck was amok with rum lightened sailors. The pirates, adorned in dark tattered clothing and wearing unwieldy manes of facial hair, were a raggedly fearsome sight, but their attitudes were those of life loving schoolboys. "Alright boys," said the captain kindly as he tried to calm the chorus of _A Pirate Named Fleddermauss_, "You all know my mate, Cyloncrius…" another yell of reckless joy filled the air but was again stifled by the captains gloved hand, "The ol' chap should be waitin' for us on shore. You all know a battle's ahead…you know that lives 'l be lost," the captain paused as he cast an utterly solemn glare towards the foggy sky, but slowly a sly smile parted his lips, "But you know the king," the captain raised his voice from a whisper to a hearty shout. He yelled with emphatically spread arms, "He'll be waitin' with open arms an' a fresh supply of bandit brew!" A huge cry of contentment rose from the ship and drifted off into the air as the men merrily struck up their song once again.

The seven black ships, on which the pirates sailed, partied, and all the while pillaged, sliced silently through the dark murky water that flowed through to the entrance of Greatwood. Each ship was as dark as the water through which it sailed, and its sails fluttered like dark rain clouds in the raspy wind. Upon each ship were massive ballistae loaded with thick black missiles ready to impale any foe. The decks were lit by lanterns that glowed in the coming dusk, and cast fleeting shadows of the ships passengers onto the murky water. Yet in spite of the hellish look of the pirate ships, the fearsome men on board walked about merrily enjoying their beer and awaiting the arrival on land.

The captain leaned against the bow of the ship and gazed out into the dark, foggy distance searching for a sign of his comrades on shore. The outline of the tall trees could be seen ahead as the ship neared land. Finally a small light appeared, penetrating the fog. "There they are boys," the captain declared as he marched to the ships wheel and precisely angled the vessels course. The captain let forth smile accompanied by a chuckle of approval as he thought of Cyloncrius awaiting him. As the ship anchored itself near the bank of the river all smiles, chuckles and any signs of merriment were gone. The captain was not greeted by a band of merry bandits. The remaining group of bandits stared blankly at the pirates. All of them were pale, and seemingly lifeless. Many were covered in dry blood, and all showed signs of vicious battles. The captain, along with a few other pirates lept into the river and waded to shore. Cyloncrius, the worst sight of them all, greeted them. The front of his clothes and armor were drenched in blood, and the cut on his neck from which the blood came was becoming horribly infected. His face had a huge bruise on one side, his arm had a deep cut from his wrist to his elbow, and he walked with a slight limp. Cyloncrius looked at his pirate friend with a horrifying glare. The kings eyes showed utter fear. He seemed deathly afraid of something. He tried to say something to the pirate through his eyes, as he stood fixated on the captain, but it was not quite clear. The bandit king walked closer to him murmuring something, but that was all he could do. The captain looked over the huddled king to look at the shady figure beside the distant fire. Tarus sat toying with his dagger while looking into the flames. His face bore a cut under his ever-fearsome eyes. Cyloncrius grabbed the captain tightly with a shaky grip and pulled him nose to nose. He winced as he made a desperate effort to speak. He finally made out one word, "Run."

"My good captain," Tarus said as he rose from his perch and approached the pirate, "I was beginning to think you wouldn't show." Cyloncrius hurriedly backed away from the captain, daring not say more, while keeping his senses fixated fearfully on the conversation. "I made it without difficulty," the captain spoke plainly but a nervous air was within him. "Come now my friend do not fear," Tarus on the other hand spoke heartily and with a smile on his face. Tarus could sense the fear in the captain, it was a basic skill that he had. It was in the eyes. The eyes are a window to the soul, Tarus had learned that and used it to his advantage. He could see the fear, joy, grief, in anyone, whereas his own eyes showed only one feeling: a pure, passionate hate. A malice that had thought behind it, a malevolence that was not guided by recklessness. Pure unadulterated hate.

"Come my friend have a drink." Tarus walked to a supply wagon not yet unveiled to any bandit. The pirates on the incoming ship let out a "YAR" of delight at the sight of twenty massive barrels of rum. The bandits winced at he sight of their sudden revealing of alcohol that had been hidden from them. The pirates drank their fill. This was their payment for the so-called "small battle" ahead. Tarus could now be assured that his new friends would be utterly devoted. His new bands of drunkards were bought as easily as the old.

Tarus watched the shore atop a boulder with pride as the ships were finishing their unloading process. First came a horde of pirates who walked to shore on a temporary bridge that extended from the ships and onto the riverbank. The pirate's minds were fierce, their arms were strong, and their curved blades were sharp. They were a fantastic fighting force. They were all adorned in dark clothes, ragged and torn from years of battles in far off lands. Their black beards were long and some were worn in foreign styles, odd yet fearsome. Not only was their bare appearance terrifying, but their weaponry was also a hellish sight. They wielded astonishing implements of war. The weapons' curves and shapes were beautiful, in a blood lusting, death ridden way. Some wielded basic sabers, some swords and various blades stolen from other lands, but some men's weaponry was ingeniously made. Weapons with blades jutting out from all sides, hilts with complex rotating parts that swung about prepared to cleanly dismember the helpless opposition, and brutal clubs intertwined with chains and spikes as sharp as thorns. Even the archers were wielding cunning devices. The bows were made from the finest fletchers. They were crafted with unsurpassed skill, and their arrows were tipped with heavy steel tips. Some bows were even mounted with blades, just in case a nearby enemy needed to be…dispatched.

The force that had already departed from the ships was enough to overthrow Bowerstone twice over, but more militants were coming. Tarus' face lit up as he saw pirate siege weaponry depart the ships. Catapults, siege ladders, and ballistae were wheeled out across the bridge and onto shore. They were made of dark stained wood, and even when not demolishing a fortress they were a fearsome sight to behold. The wall of Bowerstone could be etched away, but the gate must be penetrated. For this a battering ram would be needed. Out it came. A massive example of masterful weapon craft. The battering ram itself was made out of a single massive oak, which hung from thick chains that connected the ram to a frame. The ram was surrounded by a small structure, rendering it safe from archers. It was a flawless piece of work. Even with allies, the city would fall.

"I take it I don't need to ask about your approval," the captain stepped up to Tarus' side. Tarus nodded in response. The captain paused for a moment, "M'lord? About the ol' kingly fellow…what's gotten into 'is head?" Tarus explained the events that had led to Cyloncrius' nature, and his unsightly appearance, while adding in small tidbits of his own and maybe a lie or two. The captain responded with a joke said in a grim way, "That's like the ol' dog. Good chap when he's sober." "Yes," Tarus spoke softly as he recalled the past and scrutinized his army all at once, "It has been a rough journey. It gets to your head, you know." The captain nodded in affirmation, "I guess the battles tomorrow, eh? We aren't that far from Bowerstone."

"No we are not."

The conversation continued ever so casually in complete contrast to the sight of horrendous armies marching to shore and preparing their beddings. A calm, cold night was approaching.

The scene was not a riotous cluster of drunken merriment. The men were tired. They calmly ate their meals and sparingly sipped on the rum bestowed on them as they calmly sat around campfires. The captain made his rounds to each group spreading words of encouragement. Cyloncrius was huddled with a few men trying to warm themselves as the captain approached. The captain looked pitifully at the king who sat hunched over miserably while staring blankly into the flames. The captain put his hand on his shoulder, "Eat, drink, and be merry boys."

The pirates, as well as the bandits, were not evil men. Their occupations were questionable, but in comparison to Tarus they were innocent. They were pawns to him; men caught up in something of which they knew nothing. The bandits were driven by fear, and the pirates by ale and their promise to serve. They may die tomorrow. They may live. For now they cared nothing of the next day. Now they only wanted the small favor of a warm meal, and some rest. To the men, tomorrow did not matter.

Tarus had a tent to himself. He walked in and sat on a warm fur blanket. He sat a moment, and then reached for the sword at his side. It made a crisp ring when drawn. The black blade seemed ever darker. The sword sensed coming blood. It sent a small surge through Tarus. The power felt amazing. He rose with the sword in hand, and readied himself in attack position. The sword flew, and twirled about viciously, all the while singing its glorious song. The fury built in Tarus. The power grew. He spun the sword faster and faster as the sword sung ever louder. Power. Power was all he felt. He almost cleaved the man at his door into, but came out of his frenzy quickly. "M'lord?" The captain stood partially confused, and partially astonished, "Just bidding you well." Tarus stood panting. The captain shrugged, "Nice knife ya got there. G'night." Once the captain had left Tarus looked again at the sword before sheathing it and putting it away in the corner of his tent. Tomorrow, he thought. Finally, after all of the small battles, and the futile skirmishes. Tomorrow the war really began. Tomorrow.

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_REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! I was inspired to write about the pirates because in the game you see a few ships anchored off shore that look pretty menacing. When I played I thought, "Are those pirates?" and wondered about a possible storyline. The almighty Sir Dik Dik is like the only one who does all the reviewing so make his job easier._

_Know this:_

_The end is near._


	8. The seige begins

**Chapter IIX: The siege begins **

War was coming to Bowerstone. The once a peaceful place, now a scene of panic. Frantic villagers hurriedly boarded up windows and locked all of their doors, as they urged their unmindful children to come into the little safety that their homes gave. Men and women ran hysterically to their homes tripping over themselves and each other. Thunder roamed the walls of the city giving commands to reinforce the gate, or light the braziers. Whatever needed to be done would be done. The city appeared impenetrable. Its walls were high and thick; only ladders could breach it, but even if this occurred almost a hundred swordsmen were ready to slice the opposition in two. Almost twice that many archers stood at the ready in discipline lines. Beside them lay a row of braziers to set their pitch-coated arrows aflame. "How long Thunder?" Lady Grey had left her manor to see to the defenses. Her petite dress whipped violently in the wind, and as always she kept a dainty yet in a way stern posture. Thunder let out an angered sigh, "M'lady you MUST stay at least within the gates of the north sector." The governess waved his comments away with a dainty gesture, "This is my city I will see to its defense. Now don't keep me waiting when will they be here?"

"They should be here soon, maybe within a few hours."

"That's not good enough. You haven't even started with the north gates reinforcement."

Thunder looked annoyed, "In good time m'lady." Lady Grey looked barely pleased, but stopped her inquiries.

A wide river acted as a moat on one side of the city, and over it ran a bridge almost twenty meters long. Thunder let out a cry to the men on the bridge, "READY BOYS?" Five barrels of explosives lay on the bridge. Lady Grey stepped forward astonished, "STOP IT!" Thunder wheeled around, "But m'lady. We can't let those tyrants cross the moat or-" "They will cross it anyway. We might as well make them cluster together on the bridge." Thunder shook his head but did not argue. He ordered the explosives to be removed. Lady Grey almost left, but asked one last question before leaving, "Are the others here yet?" Thunder looked down the river searching for a sign of their allies, but the horizon bore nothing but a sunrise.

Meanwhile…

Tarus and his men were assembled in their formations. It was turning out perfectly. The men were ready to fight, and finally they appeared disciplined enough to do so. A bandit ran down the path that led from Bowerstone. "M'lord," The spy spoke between gasps, "There are rangers everywhere throughout that forest… Half of us 'd be dead…before we got there." Tarus, the captain, and Cyloncrius all sat on horseback at the head of the army. They all looked at each other for ideas as to their passing through the forest ahead.

Tarus glared at the final stretch of woods as if it were an enemy. He then looked up as if he had an idea "Burn it." The king and the captain looked at him dumfounded, "How are we to get through m'lord?"

"The path is wide we will make it."

In moments a dozen or so men went about dousing some nearby trees with pitch. They then lit torches and prepared themselves to burn Greatwood forest. Tarus took hold of a torch also, and with one final glance at the woods, he flung it towards them. The others did the same. The forest began to burn at an astonishing rate. A loud roar preceded the destruction. Soon after, the flames spread like a wave as it plowed through the dry autumn trees. No one spoke. They only looked in a morose awe at the ancient forest was quickly burnt to the ground.

Tarus inhaled deeply. Now that the forest was aflame there would be no turning back. His eyes closed slowly. The roar of the flames grew distant as he reached for his blade. He was alone now. It was only he and the Sword of Aeons. He slowly grasped the hilt, and drew his sword. He took a short moment, and then came out of his trance at the sound of hundreds of swords being drawn. His eyes shown grander than the inferno before him. He was invincible now.

The three commanders dismounted their timid steeds. Tarus turned to face his army. Their eyes glared almost as fiercely as his. They were ready to fight. "KEEP MOVING," he shouted. That was his only speech to his men. The captain stepped forward and thrust his sword violently into the air as he yelled a bloodthirsty cry. The army did the same. Their faces were contorted into pure hate. They beat their chests and shouted in a mass flurry of crazed anger. Tarus was content. He rose his sword also he cried in rage, "DEATH!" with that, the demise of Bowerstone began. The entire army ran with ungodly speed into the blaze before them, thirsty for blood.

Thunder stood perched on the top of the wall awaiting his adversaries, when he suddenly had an uneasy feeling. A frenzy of birds dashed out of the woods, followed by an odd silence. Then the horror began. A few men scurried out of the forest bathed in flames. They flailed about in sheer madness until they finally fell to the ground. The army grew restless. Murmurs filled the ranks, but besides that no sound was heard. Thunder urged their silence, but stopped abruptly. At the same moment they saw the smoke rising, they heard a peculiar roar in the distance. It grew louder, until finally they saw a glow emanating from the woods. The front of the forest burst into flames with a loud "WHOOSH". The men panicked. The oncoming force was more than expected.

The flames scorched Tarus, but he was mad with rage, the edge of the forest was near. Past that he could see a clearing, and then the bridge leading across over the fjord. He felt like taking on the town single handedly, for the power of his dark blade pumped its energy more furious than ever before. He let out another cry of rage, which was echoed by the other men. This was it.

As soon as he crossed the tree line a wave of arrows rained down upon the men. But the opposition would be responded to. A column of archers followed closely behind him. Their missiles flew by his ears, narrowly missing him, but Tarus maintained his stance. The arrows sped towards the wall. Dozens of men tumbled over the side, but the arrows continued to pour back. The sky was dark with arrows as the first stage of battle ensued. The archers of Bowerstone timidly launched off as many arrows as their quaking hands could. The sight of an army dashing out of a flaming wood scared them into thinking this army was not human. In addition, they kept coming. After the archers came out of the wood the group of ladder bearers burst out of the flames in shrieks of rage. Close behind them came the infantry. Men continued to drop dead on both sides. The oncoming waves of arrows ended lives at an increasing rate, but the victory tilted in Tarus' favor. The ladder bearers were not targeted at once thanks to their surprise entry, but the defending side soon realized the dilemma. The ladders were advancing across the bridge and would soon arrive at the wall. A few ladders fell, but the advance did not slow. Tarus could stand it no longer. He could not stand there as the others were getting all of the kills. He hurriedly grabbed a bow and quiver from a dead archer with an arrow in his gut. Tarus focused himself as he drew his first arrow. He began sending a well-aimed barrage of death to those on the wall. He released arrows quicker than any other could. One after one, the defenders of Bowerstone fell from Tarus' shots, all of which met their target between the eyes. He soon ran out of arrows, but just in time. The siege weaponry flew out of the forest. They smoked menacingly from small singes, but they were still loaded and ready to demolish the city. The catapults quickly gathered in a line. The captain ordered their attack. At his command twenty massive boulders hurled themselves into the air. They departed with a loud roar and slowly disappeared behind the wall. Tarus released a laugh of contentment as the barrage continued. He then looked to the wall. The ladders were up. He cried a yell of joy as he and the others ran to the wall. Now the real fight began.

Tarus lept high enough to reach the wall on his own, as he jumped onto the ladder. He readied his blade, for a moment before leaping onto the wall. Then he made the leap into an ocean of soldiers. He stood wide eyed for a few seconds as he observed the splendor of his war. The bandits had flown over the wall like a wave. He saw the battle rage on the other side of the wall. Tarus soon realized what he was doing and turned towards the cluster of enemies. When the pirates and bandits saw that look in his eye, they lept down to begin pillaging the town, knowing of the coming wrath of Tarus. He was upon the guards in an instant. His fury of the past endeavor flew forth with a mighty force of sheer malevolence. He swung his blade hard as he brought it down on the first man's skull. He then spun his sword in a wide arch, inflicting deep wounds on all of the fearful combatants. The wall was relatively narrow allowing only a couple of men to attack Tarus at once. Because of this men fell like rag dolls onto the ground; their life brought to an abrupt end. Tarus began moving across the wall, constantly hacking through the droves of men. His sword sunk into one guards chest and then spun while hewing down four more. The ground was covered in blood and decapitated bodies. The onslaught of Tarus was overwhelming, but the guards were pressing ever on. Tarus killed a few men on the wall, but after them no one else came. Behind the now fallen men, stood a row of pike men. As soon as Tarus realized what was happening, the guards ran forward with their spear wall pressing towards Tarus in an effort to skewer him and end this onslaught. Now that the guards were using new weapons, Tarus would have to do the same. He focused for a moment, building up all of his rage. His face contorted into a hellish glare, as the wall of spears drew within striking distance. He raised his fist high, and let out a blood lusting roar. He brought his arm down with an ungodly force, which rocked very stones out of the wall. An explosion of fire rose from the earth, with as much menace as Tarus. The spear wall was launched back, now merely scorched embers.

The wall, clear of men, Tarus lept down onto the real battlefield. Dust choked the air as it was stirred up by an army of warriors. Tarus walked through the battle, none daring to fight him, as he looked at the raging fury. Men were literally being chopped to pieces, splashes of blood occasionally flew into the air, and arrows could be seen pelting the fight. The dust cleared enough for Tarus to see the inner wall of the city. Archers also lined the wall, but what caught Tarus' eye most was the sight of a long lost acquaintance. Thunder was at the helm of the archers sending down his own barrage of arrows. Tarus and Thunder met glances for only a moment, but those few seconds were enough. Both heroes knew that their paths would cross soon.

The raid continued successfully. In a matter of minutes the last of the outer defenses had fallen. All that remained was the inner wall. The ground was littered with bodies. Hundreds of men lay strewn about, their blood drenched the earth. Death was in the air, the smell of blood was in everyone's nostrils. The smell was combined with the smoke of the forests that still burned with fury. The smoke was blowing into the air, which was becoming black. The archers on the wall still shot arrows in a small but steady barrage. No one was being hit, but was always on their guard. The three captains regrouped behind the cover of the remains of a house that had been hit by a catapult. None of the commanders had been harmed; except for Cyloncrius whose wounds were slowing him down. He panted ferociously as he groped at his neck. Tarus looked at him for a moment, "Cyloncrius. It is time for you to be of use. Give the guards a chance to surrender." The captain looked at Tarus in slight confusion. The guards would surely kill him. The bandit king stood for a moment, staring at the ground. He then stood up, and struck a proud stance. He straightened his armor, turned to the gate, and began a sad march to the gate.

It was a heartbreaking sight as the bandit king slowly marched to his death. He walked with glory, as a king. He would die with honor. The bandits watched in a painful stare as their beloved king walked. The captain was near tears also, but Tarus watched with a blank stare. Thunder stepped up to the center of the wall, with a furious look in his eye. Cyloncrius stopped his march and stood tall, "My lord wishes me to tell you…" The bandit king coughed a bit and winced in pain. His neck throbbed painfully, "We are graciously asking for your surrender." Thunder would not except his city to give up. He reached for a spear and held it above his head. Cyloncrius closed his eyes. The once simple journey that had filled him with anticipation was mutilated into a hell. He was ready for it to end. As the spear flew towards him he thought of Tarus. Cyloncrius now saw the evil within him. He did not want to see what Tarus would do to the world, what evils he would bring. The world would fall into evil, under his reign, and the king did not want to see that. The spear was coming ever closer, but Cyloncrius was ready for the end.

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And so passes Cyloncrius, lord of the swine. I do hope that was sad enough. I'm not very good at charecter development so i wasn't sure if you felt for the bandit king. Please tell me what you think. I'd also like to honor Sir dik-dik the great for reviewing my stuff. COME ON GUYS I NEED SUPPORT!


	9. Albion falls

**Chapter IX: Albion falls**

The men had camped within the outer walls of Bowerstone. Although they would need rest no one slept for fear of a midnight attack. The defenses stayed on the wall, fearing a likewise invasion of the city. The wall was lit by torches that glared menacingly in the night. Their flickering flames revealed exhausted Bowerstone archers, who fought sleep as if it were a greater enemy than the barbarians below them. The world was silent, but within the confines of every man's mind were the roar of battle. The thoughts of war were not bloodthirsty and horrific, but were near those of peace and serenity. Most of the men wanted to rest, most wanted to go back to their homes, their families. One thought was on both sides' mind, would the reinforcements come? If they came to late Bowerstone would already be destroyed, but if they came soon, Tarus would have a harder time demolishing the city. The tides of this war depended on a dozen or so ships. Only time would tell which direction those tides would turn.

The men sat gloomily at the loss of the bandit king. Even though they had seen a lifetime of death, this was a severe blow. They wondered why their leader stepped out into the glare of death. Had he been driven mad by the thirst of battle? The captain was the only one who knew that Tarus was to blame. He found his anger was steadily rising every second as he looked at Tarus. He forced himself to look away, in order to resist tearing off the scoundrel's head. He sighed. Maybe he was jumping to conclusions. Maybe it wasn't Tarus' fault. Maybe.

Tarus stood watch. He waited for either Bowerstone reinforcement ships, or daybreak, either event would restart the attack. Tarus felt the adrenaline in his veins. Finally Albion would be his. It had been a dream at first; merely a thought. but then he was introduced to power. Power made his conquest possible. No one cared for this escapade as Tarus did. His whole life Tarus had dreamt of power, of victory, yet his whole life was a dismal example of poverty and worthlessness. But now, now his dreams had come true. Now he was standing amidst an army that listened to his every command. Now he was king. He needed only to give the command and his men would charge to the wall, freeing Albion of all Tarus' opposition. The end could be so close, but Tarus waited. His mind went over the endless strategies that lay in his mind. He was waiting for the opportune time to take his kingdom. He wanted ever so longingly to charge into the gates and slaughter every being that had life, but no. He would wait, although he and everyone else were itching to end this battle.

The men became more and more restless. Sleep was now out of the question. The Captain put aside his views on Tarus aside, and approached him, "M'lord the men 'l burst if they don't get to fight soon. Why are we wait'n anyway?" Tarus sighed, " Captain the defenses of Bowerstone are quite the opposite. They grow more weary as we grow more strong." The captain looked confused. "Timing captain…timing."

The minutes grew longer and longer. The silence was almost maddening. The low growls of fire came from the torches, but aside from that small noise, the camp was dead silence. Tarus was preparing to launch an attack until finally a cry came from the wall. "THE SHIPS ARE HERE!" Tarus lept up with a glare in his eye. All of his men jumped and yearned to see the attackers. The long expected reinforcements were creeping up the river. Tarus wasted no time, "Captain. The time has come." A bloodthirsty cry arose from the makeshift camp. Tarus had little time to issue orders, "Archers!" The arrows began, once again to fill the air. The defenses remembered their situation and began another onslaught onto their attackers. Tarus' men peered out from windows and remnants of buildings, as they cautiously fired precise shots at the wall. The defensive side was at a disadvantage. Tarus' men were hidden, while the men of Bowerstone acted as targets. They looked around fearfully as one after another would fall the long fall to the ground, and arrow jutting out of their flesh. Tarus would not allow the battle to continue so slowly, for the ships were coming down the river at a steady pace. Dark silhouettes could be seen against the night sky by the archers, but Tarus and his men, their vision blocked by the outer wall, only imagined the wind-propelled death. Action had to be taken or Tarus would be surrounded. The order was made to bring out the battering ram.

A heavy rumble of wheels, and machinery made the men turn around. Down the path came the ram. Although it was simply a carefully assembled piece of wood, it looked as evil as its makers. Four men ran fiercely alongside the ram pushing with their anger- fed might. As the ram approached the inclined path that led to the inner gate, Tarus and his men charged ahead shooting throwing, and all the while shouting things at the men upon the wall. Tarus was wielding a bow, with which he brought quick ends to several men's lives. He targeted guard chieftains, the more skilled warriors. Without them the defense would be much weaker, allowing the ships took long enough.

It was only moments until the ram reached the gate. Its roof-like structure was an obstacle to all arrows, and the solid oak battering shaft, was as Skorm's fist itself. The war dimmed down as the horrific beat upon the gate continued, its song serenading the fierce battle. Tarus couldn't help but smile. Even the captain was enjoying the conquest. Tarus fired yet another arrow, but halted before another was drawn. The defending archers began to make their way off the wall and into the inner city. All looked puzzled. Thunder, who stood alongside his men, was the last to step off the wall, his last glance: a furious glare at Tarus.

Tarus thought a moment as he attempted to perceive his opponent's plan. Surely Thunder won't surrender, he thought, and they aren't awaiting the reinforcements because our ram will be through in seconds. He thought as he watched the gate slowly splinter in two. The ram then broke a small chunk of the gate off, allowing Tarus to see into the inner city. There was Thunder, along with the entire Bowerstone army. Hate was in their eyes, fear was gone. This was their last stand, and they had nothing to lose. Tarus took a deep breath, before uttering the last commands of the battle, "FORM RANKS! NO RETREATING!" The beautiful ring of swords accompanied the beat of the ram. As he drew his scimitar, the captain nodded to Tarus. Tarus yelled over the deafening roar that began to crack the air in two, "You and the men pillage the town. I will work out the… political issues with the governess." Tarus threw down his bow and drew the Sword of Aeons. Its rage built quickly just in time to fight the last battle.

With enemies on both sides the men, Tarus' army stood at the remains of the gates, waiting for the splintered remnants to crumble at the might of their ram. After only a few more bashes to the gate, the lock finally shattered. Tarus' forces were through.

Instantly the defenses rushed towards their attackers in a final attempt to save their city, their family, and in a way, Albion. Tarus was ready for the final onslaught. He brandished his sword and swung it in wide arches, striking three or four men at a time. They fell like rain. Their blood was strewn about the earth. Tarus was like a god. His fury guided his blade through droves of men. Many were cleaved into. It was a massacre, yet not efficient enough for Tarus. He quickly put his thoughts into the back of his mind, looking for that mysterious power.

Tarus let out a cry as he arm began to quake. A roar filled the air as lightning burst from Tarus. The rate of deaths became even greater. Tarus wielded magic as well as his sword, to slaughter the remnants of Bowerstone. Every kill increased his rage. Every fallen foe contorted his mind further. For a moment Tarus seemed invincible, yet there was one man who challenged his power.

Through the dust and haze of the merciless battle, Tarus saw a massive figure arise from the dust. Only a silhouette in the fray, the figure walked towards Tarus. The sword that the figure carried dripped blood, and the stance that it carried was that of an attacker. Thunder's sword came down like a thunderbolt. Tarus barely had time to stop the massive blade when another attack flew from the side. Despite the huge weight of his sword, the blows came rapidly. Every time Thunder struck his sword would make a deep whooshing sound, and every time it hit Tarus felt as if his arm would shatter. The two battled fiercely. Both combatants were elite in their training and skill. Their furious onslaught on one another stirred up a torrent of dust. The other men slowed their fight to see the great clash between their leaders. Eventually all fighting stopped as both sides witnessed this tremendous battle. Neither man had the upper hand. They both fought with equally brutal force. The men could see the sweat pour out of the leaders. Both saw the weariness on their faces, yet they persisted. Eventually Tarus and Thunder found themselves in a stalemate. Their blades were interlocked. They both pushed with all their might, but nothing happened. Their faces were a mere foot apart. Both men stared at each other with rage. "Why did you do it farm boy?" Tarus was insulted by the name that Thunder had always mocked him by. Tarus said nothing; only he looked at Thunder with the glare that he had so perfected. Thunder stared back. They merely stood and put all their force into their blades, until finally the two swords slipped, and the battle had restarted. Tarus tired of this. He ran at Thunder striking a barrage of quick blows. Each blow hit Thunders sword harder than the last. Eventually Thunders sword was launched from his hand. Thunder breathed deeply and stared at Tarus. Tarus had disarmed Thunder, but the giant of a man would still be difficult to kill. Thunder roared in a primal rage as he threw himself at Tarus. Time slowed as Thunder flew through the air. Tarus saw Thunders face coming towards him. Thunders face showed not anger but sadness and regret. Tarus almost felt pity for his attacker, but only for a moment. In midair Thunder reached to his side and drew a knife, the final weapon he had to save Albion. Tarus reared back ready to strike a final blow. Thunder did the same. The men watching stood silent awaiting the world's fate. The final blow was struck. Tarus' face was bloody. A large gash ran down his face. He stood up, with glory, and honor. Despite his reasons, the fight was fair. He had been victorious. Thunders body lay on the ground, the knife still clutched in his hand. The severed head of Thunder lay several feet away. The final strike had been fatal.

The few remaining Bowerstone guards put up their hands in surrender as the rest of Tarus' men surrounded them menacingly. It was over. Bowerstone, and Albion had fallen to a new king, Lord Tarus. The final tasks had to be done however. The captain limped forth towards Tarus. "Captain I need you to defend the wall and lock the gates." The captain nodded to Tarus' command, "After they witness our conquest their reinforcements will retreat my lord I assure you." Tarus nodded with approval as he walked down the empty street of Bowerstone. He headed towards Lady Grey's manor, practically the capital of Albion, there Tarus would meet the…previous owner of Albion. He walked up the steps to the front door, and continued inside. He had trouble believing that he had just conquered Albion. It was his for the taking. Everything seemed distant. Everything around him seemed… odd, different. The roar of battle gone, the world was a different place. This effect added to the mysterious walls of Lady Grey's manor made for a perplexing journey through the twisting staircases and halls of the building. Tarus did not know what to expect when he found Lady Grey, but he was sure to find out. He was at the entrance to her lounge, where Lady Grey gave her commands and ruled her land. There was a large window that acted as an entire wall of the room. It looked out across the once beautiful Greatwood forest. Now there was only fire smoke, and ashes. Tarus walked up to the window through which he could see the retreating ships sail down the river. Before he got to it a sight on the floor shocked him. There lay Lady Grey, as elegant as ever. One would think she was merely sleeping. A knife's hilt jutted out of her chest. Tarus drew the knife out of her. He looked at its beauty, its craftsmanship. The knife was made purely of glass that reflected the flames of Greatwood. "It is over then." He said to himself.

Tarus turned to the window. He stared out into the burning forest, and beyond. He looked at his entire kingdom. The eastern cliffs, the western seas, and the endless forests and plains, all belonging to him. It was his, all his. He let a small laugh as he held out his hands as if to embrace his new kingdom. His journey was over, as was the rule of Lady Grey. Lord Tarus was now governor of Albion, and all would willingly bow to his power.

Albion had fallen.


End file.
